


The Belt

by Kleenexwoman



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, I made up a weird BDSM religion just for this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:46:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/pseuds/Kleenexwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Hux has major daddy issues and Finn is used as an outlet."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Belt

**Author's Note:**

> Think of the second half as a prequel; first in chronological order in the narrative, but written after the first one as a kind of tidbit for a prompter who liked the reverent kissing.

Kylo Ren has his grandfather's melted helmet, and much pleasure may it give him. Hux has The Belt. He keeps it wrapped in a handkerchief in his wall safe. It's two hundred years old, made of premium bantha hide with a pure chromium buckle in a simple and timeless design. He uses a special oil on it every month, wiping it down carefully to keep it supple and firm. It gets this treatment whether he uses it or not. But he never uses it on himself. He doesn't have that right. 

Nevertheless, after the meditative oiling of the leather and the careful polishing of the buckle, he closes his eyes and presses a kiss to the Belt. He doesn't do it because the leather feels so smooth and so firm under his lips, because it tastes chemical and masculine and musky like the way his father's study smelled. He does it because it's only proper to thank the instrument of his discipline for what it gives him. 

Hux hasn't had The Belt used on him since he was sixteen years old. The less said about that incident, the better. For years, just the thought of The Belt kept him in check, gave him a kind of release that had nothing to do with the come splattered over his fingers after an oiling session. He always came away from those sessions calm and composed, ready to do his family name proud. "Ordo ex dolor," Order From Pain. The Hux family motto. 

Recently, it's been harder to keep that order. Hux doesn't want to think about why. He's simply on the search for someone who can discipline him the way he needs, give him the order and the release that's necessary to cope with the pressure of success. Someone who'd do it out of love, not anger--someone who only wanted to use The Belt to turn Hux into the perfect leader, the perfect warrior. 

When Hux finds someone worthy to wield The Belt, he'll pay his respects to him. He'll kneel like someone who truly understands the power to be found in submission. He'll thank each of the Instruments of his discipliner's body as per the Prayer of Pain. 

_"Blessed be the Boots that kick me, and strong be the Feet that wear them." A single kiss on the toe of each Boot._

_"Blessed be the Glove that slaps me, and solid be the Hand that strikes me." A kiss to each fingertip and then to the palm of each glove._

_"Blessed be the Mouth that chastises me, and sharp be the Teeth that bite me." A kiss to each lip, upper and lower, and a flick of the tongue across the teeth._

_"Blessed be the Cock (or Cunt, although for Hux it's not quite the same) that rewards me." Sink down on the knees to kiss the head of the cock through layers of clothes._

Hux's parents were Reform, performing only the prayer and the observance of each Instrument before letting themselves enjoy where their lusts led them. They were modern thinkers, using only Hands for their children. Sometimes Hux thinks that his obsession over his father's Belt sessions might be some deep spiritual calling he's repressed in the name of the First Order, the desire to submit himself and his partner not just to each others' lusts but to the constraints of the full Rituals of Discipline. 

That's when Hux shoots into his hand, toes curling and vision whiting out. When he comes to, he fastidiously licks his come from his hand before performing a quick, last kneeling salute in the direction of The Belt.

*

FN-2187 slowly takes off the leather belt, as directed. 

He's never touched anything as supple and smooth as the real leather belt, black and shiny in his hands. General Hux had looped it through the cargo pants that were FN-2187's civvies, handling the old belt like it was some kind of relic. Like kneeling down to fasten the heavy chromium buckle just over FN-2187's crotch was some kind of sacred rite. He'd even kissed the buckle before sitting back on his knees. 

"Do you know why I've called you here, boy?" he asks, his voice low and menacing. 

Hux sits back on his heels. He's in tight black pants and a white tee-shirt, and with his red hair falling over his face he looks younger than FN-2187's ever seen him. "No, father," he says. His eyes track the end of the belt as it slides through the loops on FN-2187's pants, and when he speaks, his voice is already hitching a little. "I don't know." 

"Weakness, boy." FN-2187 loops the belt around his hands, leaving some slack between his fists. "Sheer weakness. Lack of will." He snaps the leather belt tight, and it makes a resounding crack in the dimly lit room. 

"No," Hux says, in a low voice that sends shivers up FN-2187's spine. It's like the General is really scared of him, of the Stormtrooper whose knees were knocking at being summoned alone to the General's quarters just a month ago. "No, Daddy, please don't use the belt." 

FN-2187 studies Hux. The General had said that his high empathy scores had made him an ideal candidate to sense what Hux needed out of his session at any given time. Ever since he'd been assigned to what Hux called the Elite Relief Unit, he'd stopped combat training entirely except for base fitness sessions, and took six hours per day of stretching exercises and weird puzzles that didn't make sense, all meant to increase his empathic abilities. FN-2187 doesn't know if it's helping or not. He usually decides what to do to Hux based on what he thinks he can stomach. 

So far, FN-2187 has only used the belt once. He'd gone in Hux's 'fresher and cried a little bit, afterwards. He doesn't think today is a belt day, but he raises the folded belt above his head, anyway. "Come here, boy, and let your father show you the consequences for weakness." 

"Daddy, Daddy, no!" Hux bursts out. He cringes backwards, throwing his hands up to protect himself. He's whimpering, shaking, and it's terrifying to see the fearless, passionate General Hux like this. FN-2187 had thought he'd enjoy it, seeing his General on his knees. But there's something about it that makes his world turn upside down, full of vertigo. 

"Stop flinching and take your blows like a man." The belt cracks again, loud and painful. FN-2187 still hasn't touched Hux. 

"Daddy, please, please." Hux is begging, tears streaming down his face. FN-2187 wants to throw up, but he forces himself to stay calm and stern. Because it's required of him. Because it's his job now. He thinks that maybe the other Stormroopers could have done it, troopers with lower empathy scores, the kind of people who talked about how many rebels they'd kill, how they'd make them suffer before they died. They wouldn't have been as good at it, but it would have hurt them so much less to do it. 

Hux scrambles forward and presses his palms against FN-2187's pants. He looks up at Hux with a beseeching smile on his face. "What if I made you feel good, Daddy? Let me make you feel good." He unzips FN-2187's fly. 

"You...you better make it real good, boy." FN-2187 caresses Hux's back with the belt, pushing up the hem of his shirt. Hux presses his mouth against FN-2187's cock, and the warm teasing of his lips and tongue makes FN-2187's cock spring to life. FN-2187 likes this part better, when Hux's fear and terror changes into desire. It's easier to see the General in control, taking what he wants. Comforting, somehow. 

But he's not getting that off the General. Hux is still whimpering, his cries muffled as his lips are stretched around the bulk of FN-2187's cock. Tears are streaming down his face. 

"Stop. Stop." FN-2187 pushes Hux gently off his cock. "No, no, just stop." 

"Daddy, wasn't I doing a good job?" Hux asks, voice thick and cracking. "Do you want to fuck me instead?" 

"No. No, I mean stop." FN-2187 drops the belt. There's a hysterical sob rising up from under his ribcage. "I can't...I can't keep this up. I'm sorry, General, maybe I'm just not trained enough yet, but--" 

Hux rises to his feet and raises a hand. "Stop." His face is streaked with tears, his eyes red. FN-2187 takes a step towards him, thinking crazily that they might kiss. They haven't yet. Hux had told him they probably never would. But if they were going to, wouldn't this be the moment to do it? To reach out across this game Hux has constructed for them and try to ease his pain, instead of indulging it over and over? 

Instead, Hux shrugs on his uniform jacket. His face is blank, but stern, his lips pressed together. "Very well, FN-2187. I'll call Phasma to fetch you." 

FN-2187's heart sinks. He sees a reassignment in his future.


End file.
